It was nearing midnight when Edith returned home. The house quiet, she put the boots on a chair and took out the letter. It was written in a clear hand. She poured herself a glass of plum brandy and read it.

My beloved Edith,

I am not writing this letter to make you sad. I hope we will be laughing together, and you will tell me what foolishness it was to put these words on paper. But if I know you, as I believe I do, you will understand what I am about to say. I have had a premonition. It happened on the day I met the butcher. I thought it was to do with your fate but now I am sure it was a foreshadowing of my own death. My mistake was to imagine the butcher as a pantomime villain. Too late, I realised why you were worried. You are far too intuitive to dismiss him lightly. Never did I imagine he could stop us from being together.

My love, if I return then tell me I am a fool, but if I don’t, know this: I have never loved anyone as I have you. Because it is night it doesn’t mean I am not here. When the dawn comes, you will see me again. Don’t put me on a pedestal. Don’t make me into a little god of a future we didn’t have. Live your life, relish whatever it might bring you. May it bring you the wisdom to love again, enjoy your beautiful body and may you have many lovers to kiss you and love you in all the ways I cannot.

My love for you will not be frozen by death; the waiting will not be marked by years. No clock can give me time. I will be here, and that is where you will find me. Be free. I put no chains on you. To truly love is to let go, and by doing so, I know you will return when the winter comes, and the days draw in on a life lived with passion. Do not feel guilty for the footsteps you take without me.

With my blessing, with all my love, choose life, Edith. Not for both of us – my days are nearly spent – but for yourself. Fill your lungs with mountain air, tell your stories, let them take you on a journey.

My love, my heart, you are in my soul.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The Crossroads